Morning
by Not-What-It-Looks-Like
Summary: Charlie wakes up to thoughts of the beautiful morning, the beautiful night, and the beautiful girl in his arms. ((Reviews welcome!))


It was funny how you never could quite seem to remember waking up. It was more like you couldn't remember anything up to a point where you could and then you were just awake. And you were thinking about how you didn't have any dreams last night, and then you were thinking about the part of last night that you were awake for and how nice it was and how nice this morning was because this was the morning after the night before. At least that's how Charlie felt that morning as he sat staring at his ceiling at a slightly awkward angle because someone was in bed beside him. And although she was small and curled into a relatively tiny position Charlie didn't want to take the chance of disturbing her. Because there was something about girls that no matter how beautiful they were they are almost always that much more beautiful when they are asleep. Especially when they are asleep beside you after having spent the night with you in your bed in your small apartment even though they had only said they were going to stay until the movie was over. But the movie had ended a long time ago, and the television had been turned off, and all the lights except the one on the nightstand had been turned out and the whole world got swallowed up except for that bed and those two people in it together. And that was beautiful. And that was why Charlie did not want to move to break the beautiful spell of the morning after.

But eventually he knew the early of the morning was turning to mid morning and even though it was a Saturday and he didn't think either of them had anything to do he felt like it was time to get up. He rolled onto his side, the one that put him facing her body, and looked passed the head half engulfed by pillow and covered with soft hair toward the clock. It was almost 9:00. Slowly, so as not to pull her too harshly from the softness of sleep, Charlie placed his arm around the girl and fit his chin into that place between shoulder and neck and whispered into her ear.

"Sam," he said, "it's morning."

And she didn't stir. He turned his head slightly and pressed his lips to her cheek. Again he said,

"Sam. It's time to get up."

This time her side of the sheets rustled, but he was still given no response. At this point, not only that morning but in their relationship, Charlie had learned when his leg was being gently pulled, so he turned his lips against her throat and began to speak soft and horsley into the soft, exposed skin. He told her to wake up and how it was morning and how she didn't want to sleep too late and sleep the day away. He told her about how beautiful the sun looked the way it stole through the blinds and how the birds were making polite chatter outside the bedroom window. He told her how everything was too beautiful about that morning to miss much more of it, and he couldn't be sure if it was his words or the fact that his breath more than likely tickled against her skin that roused her and brought a quiet, lovely giggle up the girl's throat, which he not only heard but also felt. And his lips kissed the spot where it had resonated from, which prompted another soft noise, but this one was different and they both knew it.

And despite the fact that she was only awake just now enough to stir she did, and turned her head around to face him, as he leaned over her, holding her gently. She didn't talk but she didn't have to. Her green eyes, the ones that caught the morning light so beautifully no songs or poems or anything could ever quite say it unless you saw it yourself, were looking at his lips. And hers were parted ever so slightly and moving towards them. He needed no further prompting. The boy without words pressed his lips against hers, and although both had stale air against their gums from the night of sleep neither seemed to mind. And the morning seemed to get quiet around them, as if it knew it could never be quite so beautiful in that moment.

Sam moved herself, turning over so to press her front against his and hold him proper. And the kiss deepened. It wasn't a hungry kind or mindless or drunk with lust or pride. It was just a kiss. It was the words their lips could not make with sound, promising each other love. The kind they each deserved even if they both doubted it.

And when eventually the kiss did break both lips of the couple turned to gentle, sleepy smiles.

"Morning," Sam mumbled, softly. Her voice was thick with sleep.

"Morning," Charlie answered.

"What time is it?" She was already arching her neck back to look at the clock, but he answered her anyway.

"Nine."

Sam sighed as she let herself fall back onto the mattress. She brought her hand up and lazily ran it through her hair. With a frustrated, but not really, tone she said,

"I was supposed to go home when the movie ended. What happened?"

Charlie just smiled because he knew it was a rhetorical question. Of course she knew what had happened. She looked up and caught him smiling, and took her hand from her head to shove his shoulder lightly, pushing herself up off her back with her free one.

"I going to shower," she said, calmly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Which maybe it was, it just didn't seem like it. Nothing about it seemed simple, which was a shame because it probably should have. They were just two people who cared for each other and loved each other. But ever since they had begun spending the nights together everything had seemed like it was something just a little bit more than it was. And maybe that was just because of how people say "we are more than the sum of our parts." Charlie liked to think that was true, so he nodded his head.

"Okay," he said, moving his arm out from around her so she could bring herself completely out of bed.

As she sat up on the edge of the mattress, she looked over her shoulder.

"Do you want to hop in?" she offered. It wasn't sexual. She hadn't said it in a particularly quiet or hoarse voice. Her eyes didn't droop and her chin wasn't down at that perfectly inappropriate-for-public angle she had mastered. She had just said it the way you would ask someone if they wanted a glass of water. And there was something beautiful about that, too. Because even though the comment hadn't been sexual there was a clear understanding and agreement that things could and perhaps should always turn that way if showering with a lover. But it was beautiful because they didn't have to say it. They could just know it and that would be enough.

"No," Charlie told her, "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Okay." She got up and headed for the drawer, the one that had never been set aside for her but had somehow simple gradually become hers, and removed from it a few clean articles of clothing to replace the ones scattered on the floor from yesterday's use. And with the replacements in hand she disappeared into the tiny bathroom and closed the door but did not lock it. Because the invitation was still there just the same.

Charlie settled back down in bed and worked his hardest to not think much of anything until he heard the water begin to run and heard the shower curtain be pulled into place. From there he began to think of the day ahead. About what could be done and what could be put off until after Sam had left and how long he could put that off as well. And eventually when the thoughts in his head were moving around too much to be of any comfort lying down, he got up and out of bed. Making the sheets, he thought about warm water and soft hands and quiet, happy things to write about and the reassuring slap of a typewriter key against paper, and it wasn't long before he decided, not too shyly, to walk to the bathroom door and slowly turn the knob.

* * *

Might be a one-shot, might add more. I'm not quite sure yet.

**PLEASE REVIEW!** Where would you like to see the story go from here?


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